


Daylight

by octothorpetopus



Series: Lover [8]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adult Losers Club (IT), Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier Are Best Friends, Bill Denbrough & Eddie Kaspbrak Are Best Friends, But Like Kind Of, Cutesy, Depressing, Domestic Fluff, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier-centric, Endgame Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Established Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Established Relationship, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, I Made Myself Cry, IT Chapter Two Spoilers, Internalized Homophobia, Losers Club (IT) Friendship, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Minor Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, POV Eddie Kaspbrak, POV Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris Are Best Friends, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is Whipped, Stephen King's IT References, and I don't cry, basically if they were together during chapter two, like lots and lots of book references, thats what this is, this was not supposed to be this long, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-10-17 07:37:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20617373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octothorpetopus/pseuds/octothorpetopus
Summary: Richie and Eddie return to Derry, where they are reminded it’s not just them against the world.---Follow-up to I Forgot That You Existed, which is part 1 of the series, but can be read as a stand-alone.





	Daylight

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Like it says in the description, this is the follow up to Part 1 of the Lover series, but you can also read it as a stand-alone. This is one of the best things I’ve ever written, in my opinion, and as always, I always read and appreciate any comments or feedback you have! -C

Richie’s rental car (a red Mustang convertible, much like his own car) pulls into the Jade Of The Orient parking lot at half past eight the day after Mike calls. He sits in the driver seat, Eddie in the passenger seat beside him. They stare in silence straight ahead at the neon Jade Of The Orient sign before them, their hands entwined together, resting on the console.

”We don’t have to do this, you know,” Eddie says, turning to look at his boyfriend of these last six years. “We could turn around now, drive back to Bangor, and be on the next flight back to LA. We could be spooning in bed before the sun even comes up.” Richie smiles, but doesn’t meet Eddie’s eyes. The purple and green neon lights up his eyes, so gray that they’re almost black.

”Yeah, we do. We can’t leave them.” Eddie squeezes his hand once before opening the car door and stepping out into the cool Maine evening. A breeze cuts through his thin shirt and jacket, and he shivers. On the other side of the car, goosebumps run up and down Richie’s arms, only partially because of the cold. He meets Eddie in front of the doors, and takes a deep breath before pushing them open. There is no dramatic silence, no cheering, no... anything. There are families in the middle of dinner, couples in quiet conversation, a group of friends clustered around the bar. It is so utterly normal that they almost, for just a second, forget that this is Derry.

”Are you ready?” Eddie snorts and shakes his head.

”I don’t think I ever could be.” He takes Richie’s hand, and they follow a sign directing them to the private room in the back corner. They pause, just out of sight, already hearing muffled voices that are familiar and unfamiliar in equal measure. “Kiss for luck?” He asks, almost joking, mostly not. Richie pulls him close and kisses him with more fervor than maybe ever before in their entire relationship except for that first kiss on the sidewalk outside Eddie’s hotel. Eddie’s hand comes to rest in a familiar position, cupping Richie’s stubbled cheek. They do not break until someone clears their throat behind them. They jump apart like high schoolers caught making out behind the school gym.

”Hi, guys,” Mike says, his eyes slightly wide in surprise.

”Hey, Mike.” Richie bows his head sheepishly, and Eddie feels his face flush in embarrassment. He’s not sure why he’s embarrassed. Maybe it’s that he feels like he’s 13 again, in love with his best friend, unable to tell anyone else. He thinks that’s what Richie’s feeling too. They look at each other, then back at Mike, bracing for questions or shock or maybe even disgust, but they receive none. Mike just smiles that gentle, close-lipped smile of his, and takes Eddie into a tight hug, then Richie. 

“It’s nice to see you guys again.” Richie visibly relaxes.

”It’s nice to see you, too.”

”I guess that makes sense why you picked up Eddie’s phone.” Richie smiles, but his eyes flick over to Eddie, and the love in them is insurmountable.

”I just wish you would have called sooner.” Eddie clasps Mike’s shoulder tenderly. He leads them into the room, where everyone else has already arrived. There are hugs and high-fives and inside jokes all around (“beep-beep, Richie” must be said at least ten times). They take their seats around the table, leaving one empty as if on instinct. 

“What do you all do now?” Mike asks as they settle into their seats. “Bill, you’re obviously a writer.” Bill flushes and shrinks down into himself. 

“I’m an architect. My new building in London just opened,” Ben says, a little self-importantly. It’s for Bev, obviously, and Richie and Eddie share a secretive grin over it. Not everyone got as lucky as they did.

”My husband and I have a fashion line. Rogan-Marsh,” Bev says, and when she says “husband”, both Ben and Bill’s heads snap up.

”That’s great, Bev,” Mike says before the moment gets any weirder.

”I was gonna be a voice actor, but apparently to work on movies you have to be ‘personable’ and ‘dedicated’ and ‘not talk about how the characters are probably furries on live television.’” This cracks everyone up for awhile.

"Beep-beep, Richie," Eddie mutters, jabbing a knee into Richie's thigh under the table.

“Yeah, so that didn’t work out. And now, like every other failed actor, I do stand-up.”

”Hey, I think I saw one of your specials once,” Bill says, his eyes sharp with memory.

”Was it any good?”

”Nah.” This sends them into another bout of laughter.

”And you, Eddie?” Everyone turns to look at him expectantly. Richie gives him a nod and a smile, almost imperceptibly. Eddie clears his throat.

”Well, I went to New York, and I was gonna start a limo service, but then one thing led to another, and now I’m the Los Angeles city planner.”

”You married?” Bill asks, and Richie loses his shit, howling with laughter.

”Eddie? Married? Come on, Bill-“

”Shut up, Rich.” Eddie elbows him hard in the ribs.

“So, you two look like you just fell right back into old patterns,” Bill says, his eyes twinkling with mirth as he leans back in his chair. Richie and Eddie exchange a look and nearly burst out laughing. “What? What’d I say?” Bill asks Bev, who just shakes her head and takes a sip of her beer.

”Actually-“ Richie snorts again, interrupting himself. “Actually, Bill, there’s a little more to it than that.” Everyone goes silent in intrigue. He turns to grin at Eddie, and their hands slip together in a position so comfortable it almost feels weirder to be separated. “We met up again about seven years ago, and we’ve been together ever since.”

”Together as in-“ Ben silences Bill with a smack to the back of his head.

”Together as in together.” Eddie looks at Richie, and the love would have been clear even to someone who had never met either of them before. “For seven years in July.” Mike lets out a low whistle.

”Congrats, guys,” Bev says, beaming. Ben sneaks a furtive glance at her before repeating the sentiment. Richie bites back a smile. He was worried, Eddie can tell. Eddie can always tell. Worried that their friends wouldn’t accept him, or accept them, or maybe that they’d think he was joking. But the worry is gone. He is fearless for the first time in his life.

In their car, Eddie switches on the radio as they take the long drive back from the Jade Of The Orient. Richie's jaw is clenched, and there is no light, no joy on his face. He is not Richie, at least not the Richie that Eddie knows.

"Baby, I-"

"Don't," Richie interrupts. "Let's just get our stuff and go home." His voice is soft, and it breaks Eddie's heart. They drive the rest of the way in silence. The lights of the Derry Town House are on, but there is no one else there. Richie supposes that Ben and Bev and Bill are not far behind them. He crosses the foyer in long strides, Eddie struggling to keep up behind him. Their room is on the 6th floor, and Richie runs up the stairs without pausing even for breath. He waits for Eddie, but slams the door behind him, and doesn't wait even a second before pulling their suitcases out of the closet. He throws them on the bed and does not move, just stares at them, breathing heavily. Eddie approaches him from behind and rests a hand on his shoulder.

"Richie." Richie turns around, and Eddie can at last see what the dark streets and thick glasses prevented him from seeing earlier: Richie's tear-streaked face, a picture of the conflict that tears through him. Wordlessly, Eddie wraps his arms around him, and Richie falls into him, shoulders wracked with sobs. "It's okay," Eddie whispers as he strokes Richie's hair. Before long, Richie stills, and Eddie's arms, which had been a vice grip around him, relax. Richie leans down to rest his forehead against Eddie's, and Eddie wipes the remaining tears from his cheeks.

"I'm sorry," Richie murmurs, to which Eddie laughs a bitter, surprised laugh.

"What are you sorry for?"

"I don't know, I just... am." Eddie presses a gentle kiss to his lips and cups his cheek tenderly. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for. Look, there’s a bar downstairs. Go get a drink, calm down a little, and I’ll meet you down there when I’m done packing, okay?” Richie nods, and his heart swells with love for Eddie, who knows him better than anyone else on earth, even himself. 

“I love you, Eds,” he says, and means it more than ever.

”I love you too, Trashmouth.”

"Fuck you," Richie says, and kisses Eddie back.

The six of them are all down in the clubhouse now, and Richie is more annoyed than ever at himself for coming back. In fact, he is so upset that for the first time in months, he has forgotten about the tiny wooden box in his jacket pocket.

"Seriously? You want us to go out there alone?" Eddie clings to his arm and repeats the sentiment. "Have you never seen a horror movie, Mike? Or read one of Bill's books?"

"Yeah, I'm with Richie on this one," Eddie says, nodding.

"Of course you are," Bill says, rolling his eyes.

"Hey, what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Richie asks, stepping in front of Eddie, eyes blazing gray fire.

"Of course he'd agree with you, you guys are-"

"Hey! Cut it out!" Bev steps between them, physically pushing them apart with a surprising amount of upper body strength. "Richie, I'm sorry, but Mike and Bill are right." If it had been anyone other than Beverly to tell him that, Richie probably would have laughed and tried to leave again, probably to much better avail. But he trusts her, and so he steps back, if a little resentfully.

"So... where do we go?" Eddie pipes up over Richie's shoulder. Mike shrugs.

"Only you know that. We'll meet back at the library tonight, with your artifacts, okay?" Everyone affirms, and they split off to revisit the most painful moments of their past. Everyone except for Eddie and Richie, who stay in the clubhouse a moment longer. Richie lowers himself gently into the dusty hammock, which creaks but does not break under his wait. Eddie sits beside him, and it sinks lower as they lean into each other.

"This sucks," Eddie says, and Richie brushes the hair off his forehead to place a gentle kiss on it.

"Yeah," he mutters, his mouth still pressed against the smooth skin of Eddie's face. "It seriously does."

"Still want to leave?" Richie sighs and thinks a moment.

"...no. Not really."

"Want me to come with you?"

"Yes. But..."

"I can't. I know. Worth a shot." They sit, swinging back and forth just a little bit, looking around at the discarded memories of their childhood. A stack of cassette tapes all labeled 'Richie Tozier's All-Dead Rock Show'. Row after row of comics organized from favorite to least favorite, the way all kids sort their treasures. There is one post with what must be dozens of photographs tacked to it: Richie and Beverly at a midnight showing of Rocky Horror Picture Show; Eddie, Bill, and Mike at the quarry; Ben, Stan, and Richie working at the ice cream shop; finally, Richie and Eddie in the Ferris wheel at the Canal Days festival. It is faded and covered in dust, but Eddie plucks it off the wall and slips it into his pocket. "There. Now you'll still be with me." Richie's lip wobbles, but he doesn't cry. He refuses to cry more than once in 24 hours.

"That's... so fucking cheesy, Eddie."

"Yeah, I know." They share one last kiss in that hammock, long and slow and almost painful to break, before they climb the ladder and go their separate ways.

Eddie’s head is still spinning when he returns from the pharmacy. He takes the steps two at a time, desperate for a shower or bath or hell, a jump in the quarry. But he doesn’t get any of those, because the second he steps foot in his room, he stops in his tracks. Richie sits on the bed his face in his hands. He doesn’t look up when Eddie enters. Ben, who is sitting beside him with a comforting hand on his back, does. Before Ben even says a word, Eddie can see his eyes, and they are terrified. Not for himself, although there is some of that, but the way they consistently flit back towards Richie tells Eddie everything he needs to know. No longer worried about the leper’s vomit that is soaking him from head to toe, Eddie sits on Richie’s other side, bouncing his leg in that familiar nervous tic as he thinks of what to say. His mind is blank. He does not know what Richie encountered, what moment of his childhood could have reduced him to this. He literally looks smaller. 

“I... are you okay?” He asks finally, and regrets it immediately.

”No, Eddie, I’m not fucking okay!” Not once in the last six years has Richie ever raised his voice to Eddie, and as soon as he does, a horrified expression appears on his face. Ben stands abruptly.

”I’ll leave you guys alone.” He leaves Richie and Eddie sitting on the bed I’m resigned quiet.

”Richie, what-“

”Don’t.”

”Rich, please-“

”Don’t you see, Eds?” Richie is on his feet now, and he begins to pace back and forth in short bursts. “I can’t tell you. I just went and relived the worst moment of my entire childhood, alone.”

”And? We all did, Richie.” Eddie was angry now. “We all just went through hell to get this shit. I love you, but you’re not the only one who’s in some pain right now.” Richie looked down at Eddie. Literally, because he was standing and also much taller than Eddie, but also figuratively. Eddie laughs bitterly before Richie can say another word, because he knows, he _knows _just what Richie’s thinking. He thinks that no matter what Eddie went through, no matter what horrors he faced, they can’t _possibly_ be as horrible as what he went through. No way, no how. “Sorry, Richie, but the world doesn’t fucking revolve around you and your childhood trauma. The rest of us went through the same shit.”

Richie snorts, a caustic sounds that burns Eddie’s heart like acid.

”Really?” It sounds like an innocent enough question, but Eddie has known Richie long enough to know that when he’s really truly angry, his sarcastic tone almost sounds sincere. It’s the only thing about Richie that Eddie finds legitimately terrifying. It’s just never been directed at him before.

“Yeah, really,” he says, standing his ground. “I love you, but don’t forget that you’re not alone.” Eddie is too tired to be furious now, and his voice wavers.

”’I’m not alone.’” Richie scoffs. “Don’t you get it? That’s exactly it.”

”Huh?”

“Pennywise, he knows... my greatest fear is of my love for you.” Eddie’s brow furrows in confusion.

”What, that you won’t love me? Richie, that’s bullshit. Total bullshit.” But Richie just shakes his head.

”Not that.”

”Then what?” Richie watches Eddie’s face as it dawns on him. He thinks maybe he can see Eddie’s heart break in the clear black of his eyes. “You’re afraid...” he chokes on the words hardly able to get them out. “You’re afraid you will love me,” he says finally. Richie says nothing, just nods. Eddie stammers noiselessly for a moment. “Richie, I don’t understand.”

”Not you. Necessarily. Just... someone like you.”

”Someone like... you mean, a man?” Richie nods miserably. “But... I mean... you seemed so sure when we got together.”

”I was, but being back here reminded me how unsure I was then. Somehow It knew, and It made me feel so-“ Richie cuts off as he bursts into tears again. Without thinking, Eddie wraps an arm around his shoulders and squeezes him tightly, just as he used to do when they were kids.

”Richie,” he murmurs, burying his face in Richie’s hair. “Richie, you can’t listen to It. You can’t.”

”How?” 

“I don’t know. But It attacked me too. And all of a sudden I was thirteen again and I was just so... small. But then I got my hands around Its neck, and then it was the small one. You just have to take yourself back. Take back the parts that make you yourself. All of them.” Richie sniffles, but the tears taper off. “I’m sorry for what I said. You deserve to deal with what happened in your own way.” Richie removes his tear-streaked face from Eddie’s rumpled, soaking shirt, kisses him as warmly and fully as he can.

”I’m sorry, too,” he says when they part. “I think I’m just being dramatic.” Eddie laughs a little.

”You think?” He stands and opens the bathroom door. “Look, I’m covered in leper puke, so I gotta take a shower.” He pauses. “Care to join me?” 

“Well, as fun and sexy as cleaning vomit off of you sounds, I need a hell of a nap before we meet the others at the library tonight.” Eddie nods. He’s not really disappointed. He didn’t think Richie would say yes.

”Right. Get some rest, my love.” Richie swallows hard and almost starts crying again.

”I will. Because you’re here.” With that, Eddie shuts the bathroom door behind him and goes to splash his face with water. Richie drifts off, while his face is submerged in the freezing water from the Kenduskeag, which is why neither of them hears Henry Bowers slip into the room behind Eddie. In fact, Eddie doesn't notice until Bowers's knife is being plunged hilt-deep into his face. He screams in pain, and in a moment of odd clarity, regrets it. It will wake Richie, and as much as he'd love some help right now, he doesn't want to wake the sleeping man in the next room. He deserves a rest. Eddie stumbles backwards, his normally droopy and vaguely sad eyes wide with hysteria, and steps into the bathtub, swinging the shower curtain between himself and Henry. He hears raspy breathing through the gray-green fabric, and nearly chokes on his own breath. He does not know anything that's happening, except that his upper jaw seems to be paralyzed somehow. It's the knife, he realizes, and laughs a mad, high-pitched laugh. The knife is stuck in the bone and that's why he can't move. It would be funny, except that he almost wants to puke thinking about it.

But he doesn't. He pushes down the bile and the terror overtaking him, takes the handle of the knife in one hand, grits his teeth (as much as he can, again, the knife is shoved through the joint in his jaw), and pulls. It takes everything in him, but he doesn't make a sound. He feels sweat pour down his face, but he keeps pulling a little at a time, inch by inch, until he's holding the knife entirely in his hand. Blood trickles down off the blade and onto his fingers, which are muddy and vomit-covered and good lord does he need an actual shower. And then, without a thought, he stabs blindly at the vague shadow through the curtain. The blade drives home directly into Henry Bowers's sternum, and the shower curtain snaps off the rings as he topples backwards with his own knife sticking out of his chest. It isn't until he hears the loud _thump _of Bowers hitting the floor that Richie actually rouses, at which point he races to the bathroom.

"Eds? Are you- JESUS FUCK!" He staggers backwards, tripping over his own feet and landing on his ass. Eddie hurries to him and offers him a hand up, blood pouring out of the open wound on his face. "Holy fucking shit, Eddie!"

"What? Is it bad?" Richie barks out a laugh.

"Yeah, baby, it's bad. Also, is that fucking-"

"It's Bowers." With all of the blood in Eddie's mouth, it comes out more like _"It'sh Bowersh."_

"Holy fucking shit," Richie repeats again, softer. "Come on, let's get you patched up." Richie takes Eddie by the arm and leads him to the bed. He scrambles through Eddie's bags until he finally finds the massive first-aid kit Eddie insists on taking with them everywhere. Turns out, he had the right idea.

When the cut (which is actually not too bad- the blade didn't actually go through the bone, and it went in a mostly straight line) is held together with a decent number of butterfly bandages and a strip of gauze has been taped over it, Richie and Eddie finally turn their attention back to the body in their bathroom. Except-

"Uh... Richie?" Eddie says.

"Hm?" Richie is putting away the medical supplies.

"...Where's Bowers?"

"What the hell do you mean, 'where's Bowers', he's right-" Richie looks over Eddie's shoulder at the empty spot on the tiled floor where Bowers should be. Because he should be dead. But evidently, that didn't happen, because he’s not there. There is a streak of blood across the floor leading to the window, which is wide open, the curtain billowing in air that suggests a storm is on its way.

”Motherfucker,” Eddie says, barely above a whisper.

”Fucking... fuck!” Richie slams his fist into the door frame, then winces as he shakes it out. He takes off running, first through the room, then down the stairs. Eddie struggles to keep up with him, pausing at the top of his stairs to use his inhaler. 

“Richie, where the hell are you going?”

”Where do you think?” Richie asks, still running for the doors. “I’m going to kill Henry Bowers!” 

“Fuck,” Eddie mutters, but doesn’t run after him. He won’t be able to catch up, and then he’ll just be tired. And he shouldn’t stop Richie. Henry Bowers is a piece of shit, and he knows that Richie’s got his own grudge match with him, not just Eddie’s to think about. He sees Ben standing on the landing below and races to him. Ben, who is still staring puzzledly, jumps when Eddie grabs his arm, and takes Eddie by the shoulders to steady him before he can topple over.

"Whoa, Eddie- wait, what the fuck happened to your face-?"

"Never mind that. Henry Bowers showed up, he- he attacked me- I stabbed him- thought he was dead but- and now Richie's- Richie's gonna kill him," he finishes finally, the words coming in short, clipped bursts.

_"What?!"_ Bev comes into view. She has heard everything, and her face is washed pale. "Jesus, first Bill, now Richie?"

"Wait, where's Bill?" She explains how Bill ran off to the carnival and Eddie runs his hand over his face. "Fuck. Okay, Bowers came here, which probably means he meant to kill not just me, but all of us. The three of us are here. Richie, Mike, and Bill are all on their own. Richie went after Bowers, Mike is at the library, and Bill is at the carnival." Ben and Bev share a confused glance, but Eddie doesn't see it. He sees a map of Derry stretched out before him, and each of them are a red dot on the map. He sees Mike sorting through stacks of books, Richie hunched over the Mustang's steering wheel, Bill racing Silver down the streets of Derry, fast enough to beat the devil. He can visualize it all in a way that is impossible to explain to anyone else, but that's truly incredible to watch as he points in seemingly random directions, tracing the lines of the streets. "It won't be Bill. The carnival is too crowded for Bowers to try anything there. Richie, Richie's in his car, but-" Eddie has a thought then. Richie's not dumb, as much as he likes to act it. "Richie's probably figured out the same thing I just did, which is that Mike is alone and totally unsuspecting. That's where Bowers'll go, and when he gets there, he'll get both of them. We have to go. Now." Eddie pats his pockets and groans. "Fuck. Richie's got the car keys."

"I've got it," Ben says, and they rush the doors. "Let's go."

Richie does exactly what Eddie predicted he would, and pulls into the library parking lot only minutes after Henry Bowers arrives (he, of course, does not know this). He takes the steps two at a time, pausing only when he sees the smear of blood on the door handle. He was right.

Inside, it takes him a moment to register what is happening. He doesn't see anything at first, but then he hears indecipherable noises coming from the aisles. Heart pounding, he slips his hand around the nearest thing to a weapon he can find, a hatchet from an exhibit of Native American artifacts. He takes three careful steps forward, then realizes what the noise is. He sees Bowers, and a shape under him. Mike. He sees the silver blade of Bowers's knife, still covered in Eddie's (or maybe his own) blood, inching steadily towards Mike's face. And then, before he can even think, he swings his arms down, wincing at the splatter of blood that erupts as it lodges in the back of Bowers's skull.

"That was for Eddie, fuckface," he says. "And you too, Mike."

"Thanks," Mike says, and collapses. Richie sways unsteadily for a moment, lurches to one side, and pukes onto the library's hardwood floor. Then the door behind them swings open so hard it slams into the wall behind him, and someone wraps their arms around Richie so quickly he's not really sure who it is for a moment. Then he inhales the familiar scent of lemon hand soap and coffee, and wraps his arms around Eddie.

"You scared me, dickwad," Eddie whispers, his face still buried in Richie's chest.

"Sorry about that. But I got him." Eddie pulls back, his eyes wide.

"You mean, he's-"

"-dead." Eddie looks up at Richie for a moment, and Richie thinks maybe he's disgusted. He has just killed a man, to be fair. But Eddie just pulls him in tighter.

"Good."

"Guys, I- I hate to break this up, but..." Bev frowns apologetically. "Bill just called. He's on his way to kill It. Alone."

Eddie can barely move as Richie is struck by the Deadlights, his limp form rising steadily into the air. He is frozen, the beam of his headlamp only illuminating the distorted face of his first love, which would almost be comical if it weren't so horrifying. His hand curls around the rusty metal arrow in his hand, a piece of a weathervane that now can do nothing. Nothing except kill monsters, isn't that what Beverly said? It does, so long as you believe it does. Well, at this point, Eddie will believe just about anything.

_"BEEP-BEEP, MOTHERFUCKER!" _He screams, and charges. He feels as though he is in slow motion as his feet leave the ground, windmilling uselessly under him, and his arm nearly rips out of its socket as the arrow leaves his fingers with nothing but a soft _whoosh _and the barest traces of reddish dust on his fingertips. He watches as it plunges into Its underbelly, followed by a spurt of neon blood.

Holy shit, he thinks. It's real.

And then he remembers Richie. Whatever hold the Deadlights had on him is broken now, and he plummets toward the ground. Eddie is not fast enough to catch him before he hits it, tumbling sideways, but he leans over the prone form, shaking him gently.

"Rich. Hey, Rich. I did it, c'mon, babe, I did it- Richie!" He exclaims suddenly as Richie's eyes snap open, disoriented and hazy. Before Richie can say a word, he presses a long, slow kiss to Richie's lips, cupping his stubbly face in one hand. Maybe if it had been shorter, what happened next wouldn't have happened. "I did it, I killed it, I-" He is cut off by a long black claw protruding through his torso. "Richie?" It comes out strangled this time.

"Eds? Eddie?" Richie shakes his head, as if this is all a bad dream, and that he just needs to wake up. But it is not a dream, and Richie watches helplessly as the love of his life is flung across the cistern, slamming against one of the rock walls and rolling into a cavern just out of view. "Eddie!" He screams, and half crawls, half runs until he is on his feet, and then he is sprinting towards Eddie, his legs pumping faster than ever before in his life, skidding to a stop and nearly rolling down the steep slope of the cavern floor. Eddie is propped against one wall, and he coughs weakly as Richie approaches, followed by the remaining four of their friends.

"Go. I'm fine." Richie ignores this and takes off his jacket, pressing it to the soaking red spot growing by the second in the middle of Eddie's chest. "Richie. Go."

"I'm not leaving you."

"Yes, you are, or all of us are dead. Isn't that what you said, Bev?" Bev shakes her head.

"I mean, yeah, but... stay, Richie. We'll call for you if we need you. But we're gonna try to find a way out. Or we'll kill it."

"Yeah. Just, uh... don't die, guys," Mike says, and he and Bill scramble after Bev and Ben, leaving Richie and Eddie alone. Richie presses a little harder on the jacket against the wound, which makes Eddie wince.

"Sorry, sorry." Eddie smiles despite the pain.

"I got a question. When Bev looked into the Deadlights, she saw all of us die. What... what did you see?" Richie thinks for a moment.

"I saw... us."

"Dead?"

"No, just... us. In our normal lives. It wasn't our condo, but it was a really nice house on the beach. And we were sitting in the sand with our feet in the waves. And I think..." he trails off, his face nervous.

"What?" Eddie asks.

"I think, maybe... we had a kid." Eddie laughs, but stops as he remembers the gaping hole in his chest.

"A kid? You know, I didn't like what Bev said about all of us dying, but that... I wonder what it would be like if we lived in that world."

"Yeah. Me too." Richie doesn't mention the scar on Eddie's cheek, right in the place Bowers stabbed him, or the one just visible above his neckline. He doesn't mention that he thinks the kid's name is Stanley, and that biologically, he's Eddie's. He doesn't mention that this seems less like a dream and more like a reality. A destiny. He lowers himself to the ground so that he's sitting cross-legged across from Eddie, and only when he shifts the jacket's position in his hand does he remember the tiny wooden box that's been in the pocket this whole time. He fumbles for it awkwardly, but Eddie slaps his hand away.

"Go help them, Rich."

"Come on, Eds, they're fine, I-"

"No, they're not, and they need you more than I do. I'll be fine. Now go." Richie hesitates as his fingers close around the box.

"Wait, Eds, I need to-"

"Shut up. You can say whatever you need to when It's dead. Go." With a resigned sigh, Richie stands and kisses Eddie's cheek, long and hard.

"I love you."

"I love you too. Go kill that fucking clown." Eddie leans back as Richie turns to go, and holds the jacket tighter against himself. And he waits, and waits, and waits. He's tired. It's been a long day, and he's so fucking tired. His eyes flutter shut and he lets them, finally drifting off into a static sleep.

"Eddie!" Richie says suddenly, and breaks away from the remaining five. He races back to the cavern where they left him, stumbling over the uneven ground. Even before he sees anything, his heart chills, and he almost stops. But he doesn't, he can't, and he keeps going. Eddie is still leaning against the wall, Richie's jacket still pressed to the open wound in his torso. Eddie's warm brown eyes are still open. Eddie's mouth is cracked in an odd half-smile. Eddie is still alive. Richie leans over him and shakes his shoulder gently.

"Eds? Hey, Eddie." He doesn't move, and Richie's throat closes up. "Eddie, come on. We did it. We beat It." Nothing. Richie's face falls. "Eddie, baby, come on. Come on!" He shakes Eddie again, harder now.

"Richie?" Bev is shaking him back. "Richie, the place is coming down, we have to go."

"No, no, we can still help him! We can- we can help him, Bev. Come on, let's just- just-"

"Richie, honey. He's dead." Richie shakes his head.

"No, he's just hurt, we can-"

"Richie." Richie swallows his words and wraps his arms around Eddie's neck, burying his face in the crook of Eddie's neck.

"We can't leave him. I was- I was gonna-" Someone is pulling him now, pulling him back. But he holds tight, turning his head to whisper in Eddie's ear. "Don't leave me, Eds, please don't leave." And then, quieter: "I love you. And It can never take that away from me." And then he is being pulled back, and he can't hold on anymore. He is screaming Eddie's name, over and over and over, and he can no longer hear himself over the din of the cistern collapsing but he knows he is still screaming because he can feel his vocal cords burning. His feet don't even touch the ground until he has no choice but to pull himself through the thin fissure in the wall to escape, and then up the narrow passage to the sewer. He is on autopilot, his mind ceasing to think about anything except Eddie, about the love of his life, about the man he left dead, clutching his jacket in a futile attempt to staunch the blood flowing out of him in waves. He left his love in a sewer, no less. The place he reviled most in life, now his final resting place. An act of bravery rewarded with betrayal. Richie wishes he'd just let go, plummet those thirty-some feet down and shatter against the rock into a million pieces. After all, wasn't that what he'd left Eddie to do?

But it's too late now, he is pulling himself out of the narrow hole and then he is sloshing through pipes full of graywater and then he is out, sprawled on the sidewalk along Neibolt Street, coughing up water and blood and god knows what else. He is soaked to the bone, but couldn't care less, because all of a sudden he lurches back to his feet. Blood is smearing off his hands onto the concrete. It's Eddie's blood, and, he supposes, the only thing he has left of him. Hell, maybe when he leaves, he'll forget Eddie again. Wouldn't that be funny? He snaps out a laugh, short and hysterical, and his friends, who are holding each other, look at him in horrified surprise.

"Richie-" Bev is cut off as the house collapses into itself, tumbling down into the basement until it's as if it were never a house, just a stack of rotting boards with a front walk.

"No, Eddie-" Richie lunges back towards the house. He'll dig through the rubble for as long as it takes, hours, days, years, until he finds Eddie and gives him the funeral he deserves. A hero's funeral. But he can't, because Ben and Bill catch him by the arms and hold him back. His feet scrabble for purchase, but he can't find enough leverage to power past them, and he collapses to his knees, still screaming Eddie's name, tears leaving grooves in the dirt on his cheeks.

It is a beautiful day. The sun shines. It's abnormally warm for Maine in October. Global warming, probably, but still nice. Richie hates it. He knows that the earth's atmosphere doesn't respond to the whims of mortals, but the mood between the five remaining (the only five living) Losers is such that the sky should be full dark, no stars, just eternal night until... well, Richie doesn't really know until what. All of his untils involved Eddie. There is only moment to moment to moment and eventually the moment will change and then another and another and another until. Just until.

Bev leaps off the quarry cliff first, just as when they were kids. Her white shirt is stained red with blood, but it's not Eddie's. Richie doesn't know whose it is, just that he can't stand to see anymore blood today. She disappears in a flash of red blood and red hair below the green water's surface, resurfacing as no more than a blazing speck in what was an endless sea to a group of 13-year-olds, and what is just another lake to these adults. Bill follows her, just as he did when they were kids, although it no longer means anything. It's just an arbitrary order now. Bill and Beverly will never live that dream of star-crossed lovers because that is not who they are. Richie knew that then and he knows that now, and when Ben jumps third, he can see that Ben will be happy with Beverly, just in the way he was once happy with Eddie. In some ways, he is glad. Someone will have found love in this group after it all has ended. That means something. But in other ways, he knows it will never be the same as what he and Eddie had. Mike jumps, and Richie is left alone at the top of the cliff. He sheds his Hawaiian shirt and shoes, and approaches the edge. His toes curl over the edge and he looks down. What he and Eddie had, that was truly the meaning of star-crossed. Ben had always loved Bev, and whether or not she knew it, Bev had always loved Ben. Maybe the same was true of Richie and Eddie, but the path they had taken to get where they were went so far beyond anything Ben and Bev would ever have to travel. Because it was over now, and they had no worry about this day ever happening again. They would live long, full lives, and Richie would go home to his empty Santa Monica condo. He would explain to their neighbors why Eddie wasn't with him. He would have to call the city planner's office. There's so much to do, so much that you never think about. But for now, he doesn't think. And he doesn't jump.

He spreads his arms wide and lets gravity take him, falling down and down and down as if he'll fall forever. But he doesn't. He hits the water feet first, by some minor miracle (although he's not sure he believes in miracles anymore), and resurfaces without losing his glasses. They swim out to the sandbar that stretches across the divide where the quarry meets the Kenduskeag. But it's not like when they were kids. Richie sits on a rock, and searches for any trace of Eddie left on him, praying that the water didn't take it all. The others clean themselves the best they can, joking all the while about Eddie and how he would have hated it. It's not the jokes that do Richie in, nor is it the mention of Eddie. It's the tree he sees poking out of the cliffside, with the remains of a rope still hanging around its strongest bough. He remembers the day they strung it up as if it were this morning. He can see himself, the rope wrapped around his pale, skinny arms, Eddie clinging to his waist, his eyes squeezed shut. He can see the remains of his childhood in every nook and cranny of this quarry, and all it does is remind him that he will never have that again, and he will never see that again, and there is no way that feeling can ever be replicated because now he is forty and he has a job and rent and a life outside of playing with his friends. And that's why he starts crying. Really crying, not weeping like he did when he returned from the Town Center, or bitter tears like he cried when they heard that Stan died.

No, this is like a dam in him breaks. There are no tears, he is too dehydrated for tears, but his shoulders heave and he can no longer breathe and he wishes he had Eddie's inhaler and his throat hurts for some reason. Bev takes his hand, and Ben holds onto his arm from beside her, and Bill rests his head on Richie's knee, and Mike leans against his side and little by little, Richie feels himself even out. He breathes. His heart pumps. He lives, as much as he doesn't feel like it. He really lives.

He looks up only when he hears a splash from the other side of the quarry. Something distant disappears below the water and then reappears, nothing more than a dark blob growing steadily bigger.

"Uh, guys, did anyone else see that?" The others look up. Apparently they hadn't. "I don't have my glasses on, someone tell me what that... was..." Richie trails off as he notices his friends' faces. Fear and shock and disbelief create a cocktail of disillusionment on their faces.

"Richie," Bev says finally. "Richie, put your glasses on."

"Bev, I don't."

"Just do it, you fucking moron," Bill says.

"Jesus fuck, okay!" Richie fumbles for his glasses and finally manages to get them on just in time to see what exactly the dark (now he can see it's actually a very dark red) shape gliding through the water towards him is. And when he does, he nearly tumbles off the rock he's perched on, because although he didn't know what to expect, it isn't this. It's far from this.

"Holy-"

"-shit," Eddie finishes, smiling widely, his eyes brimming with tears. Richie doesn't speak, he just stares, searching for words that don't exist. Finally, he settles on skipping words, and he leaps at Eddie, squeezing him so tightly he begins to gasp for breath. And then he kisses him, and then he does it again, and again, and again, and then he plants kisses on every open inch of skin on Eddie's face, placing the last one on his cheek over the scar that has replaced the gauze that was taped there not an hour ago.

"How?" He asks finally, gray eyes shining.

"I don't know," Eddie replies, and he's honest. "One minute I fell asleep in the cistern, and then I woke up in the middle of the Barrens, and... look." He lifts up the hem of his shirt, drifting over an incredible set of abs (those aren't new, Richie just loves them), the dark tattoos that cover his chest, and then- nothing. Well, not nothing. There is a thin white scar down the center of his chest, but no gaping hole where the claw of an intergalactic spider-clown plunged through it mere hours before. "I woke up and it was just like this. My face, too," he says, gesturing to the similar scar on his cheek where Bowers's knife had stuck through it like some kind of bizarre piercing. "I think... I think I'm fine."

"Oh, Eddie," Bev sweeps past Richie and wraps Eddie in her arms, followed by Ben and then Mike and Bill for some kind of bizarre and extremely damp group hug.

"Oh! Richie, I think this is yours." Eddie slips off Richie's leather jacket, which Richie hadn't even noticed he was wearing, and hands it to Richie. Their fingers brush just for a second, and all of a sudden, Richie is 13 again and he and Eddie are playing yet another round of Street Fighter at the Paramount arcade.

"Thanks, baby," he says, and all of a sudden, Eddie wasn't dead a half hour ago.

"Hey, um... I don't know about you guys, but I'm covered in shit," Eddie sighs and looks down at his blood and dirt covered body.

"I think I can help with that," Bill offers.

"Really? What-" A massive wave hits Eddie, and he reels backwards, spitting out water. "You piece of shit!" He cries, and lunges at Bill. Their little group devolves into madness, until they could hardly see one another through the wall of water. Somehow, Richie's hand finds Eddie's under the water, and he pulls him down until they're both fully submerged, staring at each other with puffy cheeks and goofy smirks through the greenish water. They are close now, and Eddie's hands find the back of Richie's neck, and he pulls Richie in close for a kiss, long and sweet, ignoring the war above them. Richie presses himself against Eddie until they can't be any closer without becoming one person. He feels a sharp edge jab into his stomach, and all at once remembers the box. The box he left in his jacket. The jacket he left with Eddie. Eddie, who's here now and could have been dead but isn't and it's by some crazy motherfucking miracle. He breaks the kiss suddenly, much to Eddie's confusion, and digs through his pocket until his fingers close around the box. It's time now. He's been waiting for it to be time since they found each other six years ago, and this is it. For the first time since coming to Derry, Richie pulls the box out of his pocket and holds it up to show Eddie, who is still staring at him in bewilderment. He does not see the faded R + E engraved in the top of the box. Richie finds the clasp and flicks it open. They are underwater, and so he can't get down on one knee, but he tries his best, planting his knee between a broken bottle and a small pile of rocks. He turns the open box around to face Eddie, and this time, Eddie gets it immediately, and gasps. Or rather, tries to gasp, but inhales a substantial amount of water. He shoots up, hacking and coughing, with Richie right behind him.

"Jesus, Eds, I'm sorry, that was fuckin' stupid of me, I-"

"Richie, what the hell happened?" Mike asks, swimming over to check on Eddie. Richie groans, but holds up the open box. Inside it is a flat platinum ring dotted with a line of the clearest pale green diamonds Richie could find. It is custom-made, and when Bev sees it, she nearly screams.

"I was gonna do it some other time, but then- with everything-"

"It's perfect." Eddie, whose voice is still strangled, but who is no longer coughing up water, finally speaks.

"So, um..." Richie shrugs.

"Dude, you have to actually ask him," Ben says, and smacks the back of Richie's head.

"Right. Yeah. Um..." Richie searches for words again, and this time there are too many. "You're the only man- only person I've ever loved. I loved you when we were thirteen, and I loved you when we were thirty-four, and I loved you every year in between and every year since. And I want to keep loving you. Earlier, when I thought I lost you, I..." He shakes his head and smiles, refusing to meet Eddie's eyes. "I didn't think I wanted to live. Because I can't imagine life without you anymore. And the more I think about it, I never could. It wasn't until you came back into my life that I realized I had a future. And it was with you. I don't know how you came back to me, if it was luck or Jesus or even some fucking ancient turtle god- but whatever it was, I'll never stop being thankful for it. You are my love, Eddie Kaspbrak, and you are my life. And I want to keep telling jokes about you and taking walks on the beach with you and making fun of hipsters and tourists with you until we're old. Will you marry me?" Richie meets Eddie's eyes again, and he is crying. All of them are crying, but for them, they are the only two in the world.

"Beep-beep, Richie," Eddie says through his tears, and wraps Richie in a tight embrace.

"So is that a yes, or-"

"Yes, it's a yes, dickwad!" Richie laughs, and they kiss, and their friends congratulate them. Richie slips the ring on Eddie's finger, which it fits perfectly, but not before showing him the engraving on the inside.

"Lover," Eddie says, breathless.

"Loser," Richie corrects.

"Both." Richie nods.

"Both. Forever."

Four years later, Eddie watches the sun set into the Pacific Ocean, rippling out red-orange waves onto the surface as it slowly slips out of view. It seems untouchable from where he sits on a long stretch of cool beach, digging his feet deeper into the sand. He hears the porch door of their house slam shut, footsteps descending down the stairs, muffled when they hit the sand. Still, he knows who it is without turning to look. He will always know who it is.

”Beautiful,” Richie says, and he takes a seat in the sand next to Eddie. The brilliant gold band on his left hand glinting in the sun.

”Isn’t it?” Eddie agrees.

”I wasn’t talking about the sunset,” Richie says, and laughs.

”You suck.” They kiss, the wind ruffling their hair and shirts. Together, without a word, their eyes travel over to the four-year-old boy a few yards away playing with a pair of dogs. 

“Stan!” Richie calls, and the boy turns around. He is only four, and already he is the spitting image of Eddie, he thinks. 

“Yeah, dad?”

”Go easy on the dogs, alright?” Stan nods his head enthusiastically and goes back to chasing Cujo, the Pomeranian, and Audrey, the golden retriever, down the surf. Eddie shakes his head and chuckles.

”He’s just like his dad.”

”Yeah. He is.” Richie’s hand slips into Eddie’s and they watch him a little while longer before turning their attention back to the sun. It is nearly gone now, leaving red streaks like fire in the purple sky. It is the last slip of daylight for today, but when night falls, they will still be together, their little family. And for once, both Richie and Eddie have no fear that tomorrow, another day will come.


End file.
